


Underneath the Leather

by fitz_y



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Bondage, F/F, Femslash, Fisting, Merlin Modern AU, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Sex like rockstars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-16
Updated: 2010-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitz_y/pseuds/fitz_y
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern AU in which Morgana wants to know what her girlfriend Gwen is wearing under her new leather skirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underneath the Leather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mary Elizabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Mary+Elizabeth).



> Don’t be fooled by the brief appearance of a plot; this is _pure and utter porn._
> 
> I’m reposting this from [](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/profile)[**kinkme_merlin**](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/) , where I wrote it for this lovely prompt: [ Gwen/Morgana, modern AU, white cotton panties. ](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/11649.html?thread=9571201#t9571201) Many thanks to [](http://yllenk.livejournal.com/profile)[**yllenk**](http://yllenk.livejournal.com/) and H for the beta. All remaining mistakes are my own. Also, thanks to all the anons who commented on the piece over at the meme!

_—And you push me up to  
This state of emergency  
How beautiful to be  
State of emergency  
Is where I want to be _

Björk “Jóga”

 _What is she wearing under that skirt?_ Morgana’s eyes fix on the spot where Gwen’s legs part around her snare drum. Her short leather skirt is riding farther up her thighs as her pink converse stomps out the beat on the bass drum pedal. Two lines of corset lace-ups run up the front of the skirt, revealing flashes of her dusky skin. Jaw set in a tight, firm line, Gwen’s curls fly when she snaps her head back and forth to the driving beat that she pushes out on her drum kit.

Morgana licks her lips and pulls closer to the wings, out of the spotlight, edging nearer to the elevated drum platform so she can get a full side view of Gwen’s luscious body working over the drums. A thick trickle of sweat glistens off the taut, straining cords of her neck, and Morgana longs to lap it up. Her arms crash down from above her head, one stick beating the ride cymbal, the other dancing over the toms. Morgana eyes the muscles that are stretching in Gwen’s bared arms as they leap around the kit, pounding out a relentless 6/4 beat. The metal d-rings on her black leather wristband flash in the spotlight. Her near-sheer, black-lace-worked pink top hugs her breasts tightly as she shakes with the efforts of playing.

Morgana’s gaze strays back to Gwen’s muscular legs and the teasing skirt that slides ever northward. It pours over her hips; the parallel lines of lace-ups play hide and seek with the gorgeous flesh of Gwen’s thighs.

 _When did Gwen buy that skirt?_ Morgana has never seen it before, and it has her drooling. Gwen had kept her long coat on all evening, only stopping to shed it right before stepping on stage as she threw Morgana a sly glance. Morgana, in the middle of taking a long swig of water, had managed to spill all down her front as her eyes glued to the snug leather over Gwen’s ass.

Morgana bites her lip and crushes her left hand harder into the neck of her guitar, her right hand strumming out chords to Gwen’s offbeat. She’s desperate to know what Gwen is wearing under the tight tight leather. _Her pink lace thong to match with her top? Her sheer black hiphuggers with a skull and cross bones stitched over the crotch?_

Gwen’s head flicks to the right and her eyes rimmed in black eyeliner lock hotly with Morgana’s for an instant as her whole body exhales sharply. They’re only halfway through the song, and by the end of it Gwen will be panting for air, Morgana knows. Her uterus tightens at the image of Gwen panting hard and fast.

Under the spotlight, in front of the jumping, moshing waves of fans, Vivian is rocking her soaring guitar solo, her legging-clad legs planted wide apart, grounding her as the music comes shredding out of her fingers. Sophia stands only a few feet away, one red heel braced against an amp, her body jerking in time with the eighth notes grinding out of her bass. The two of them are sneering madly at each other and the fans.

But Morgana only has eyes for Gwen and the line of her skirt creeping closer and closer to her butt cheek.

Reluctantly, she steps forward when she realizes that Vivian only has two more measures of her solo before Morgana needs her mouth pressed up against the microphone, pouring the next verse out of her soul. She throws one last glance at Gwen’s deliciously round thigh. _Maybe her tigerprint lace-rimmed cheekies swathed thick across her hips and then dipping down to disappear in her ass crack?_ As soon as this set is done, she will find out.

Morgana tosses her head, flicking her hair behind her shoulder and finds a smile for the crowd, dazzling her fans who let out a roar as the spotlight encircles her. _As soon as this set is done, I will find out._ She sidles up to the microphone and opens her throat.

Two songs later the set comes to a crashing close.

Morgana’s body aches with exhaustion, adrenaline, and want. She glances back and catches Gwen’s eyes behind the kit, watching in fascination as Gwen’s whole body heaves with exertion. Their gazes meet, warm with longing, and Morgana knows Gwen is as full of lust as she is.

The lights on stage die and the fans stomp, yell, demanding an encore.

Morgana hooks her guitar behind her back, and dashes across the blackened stage toward the drum platform, grabbing Gwen’s strong hand, tugging her into the wings.

Gwen’s hands are on her shoulders, shoving the taller woman back into the darkness, forcing her to sit when the backs of her knees collide with an unused amp. Gwen crowds around her, still standing, her naked calves and thighs rubbing against the tight denim stretched over Morgana’s legs.

Bending her head down, Gwen’s mouth ghosts over Morgana’s lips, coming to bite hard at her neck, just below her jaw. Morgana’s hands slip up and under the leather skirt, desperate to feel the underwear beneath. But Gwen swats her hands away and dances her lips farther down the lines of Morgana’s neck.

“If I had to spend one more minute staring at your gorgeous ass in those skinny jeans, I think I could’ve no longer been held accountable for my actions. The way your hips grind while you play is fucking obscene.” Gwen’s voice drags across her throat, harsh and needy. She yanks Morgana back up to standing, slipping her hands over her ass, stealing her fingers into the back pockets of Morgana’s jeans. Then she kneads hard with both hands, pushing their hips together.

Morgana twists one long hand in Gwen’s messy, sweaty curls, inhaling. The cropped nails of her other hand scratch lightly down Gwen’s long neck.

“And if your skirt were any higher, I’d’ve had to crawl under your snare drum and eat you right there on stage,” she whispers threateningly. “What do you have under there anyway? I’ve been salivating all night wondering.”

She reaches again for the hem of Gwen’s skirt, but Gwen lightly slaps her hand away. “Wouldn’t you like to know? You don’t get to see until we’re back at the hotel. You’re just going to have to wait for it, lady. That’s what you get for shaking your ass like that in front of my eyes all night.”

“Oh my girl’s feisty tonight. Fine, but once this skirt comes off, I’m going to be the boss.” Morgana’s all smug and sass as she leans down to ravage Gwen’s mouth. Their tongues spar, tangling to possess each other. They shove their bodies tightly together, as if they can push through their clothing into each other’s skin.

  
In the darkened house, the audience is still going wild, imploring.

  
Tapping Morgana on the shoulder, Vivian steps up behind the two of them. “Ahem, could you two possibly stop sucking face long enough to play an encore with us?”

Morgana reluctantly releases Gwen and shrugs. “I can’t help it if my girlfriend’s hot as shit.”

Vivian stomps her 6-inch pink heel impatiently. (The heel perfectly matches the babydoll pink streaks that shimmer in her blond hair.) “Yeah, yeah I know. It’s the same thing every night. If you two weren’t so adorable, I’d have to hate you. C’mon.”

  
Morgana’s fingers are exploring the trail of Gwen’s hem. She traces where it meets Gwen’s thigh, dances under it, feels the heavy texture of new leather between her thumb and forefinger. Crowded between Gwen and the padded limousine door, she assumes her explorations are hidden from the pair sitting across from them.

Well even if they weren’t, Arthur and Merlin would probably neither notice nor care. Merlin, their opening act, is too engaged in dissecting the highlights of the show with Gwen. And Arthur, Morgana’s stepbrother and Merlin’s manager boyfriend, seems too wrapped up in running the backs of his knuckles over the light dusting of gold body paint that still shines on Merlin’s cheekbones.

“You know that one fill in _Broken Spring_ kills me every time,” Merlin says enthusiastically. “I’m sitting there thinking okay they’re in four, they’re in four, wait what are they doing . . . what . . . what . . . oh my god they’re in six and I have no fucking clue how they got there! It’s brilliant. Touring with you guys the past three months has really changed how I think about rhythm. You’ll see, my next album is going to play so much more with meter.” His blue eyes are shining.

“ _Playing with meter,_ huh? What else do you want to play with?” Arthur murmurs next to him, as he moves to exploring Merlin’s large ears with his fingertips. Merlin bats him away, laughing and turns back to Gwen who’s now explaining the intricate lightning quick meter shifts.

Morgana switches from the pads of her fingers to the sharp press of her nails, as she tries to urge them under the skirt, toying with one of the x’s of leather cord that laces up Gwen’s skirt. But Gwen’s body remains tucked firmly into the plush of the limousine, and the skirt won’t budge any more. _Maybe it’s her lilac v-string that blooms a lovely dark color when her come stains it._

Gwen wriggles a little closer to Morgana and the skirt inches up a fraction. Blood dancing in her groin, Morgana doesn’t know how she will survive the ride back to the hotel.

Arthur turns to his distracted stepsister, “Are you two sure you don’t want to come to the club?”

“What?” Morgana stops fussing with Gwen’s skirt and looks up.

He raises an amused eyebrow at her. “I asked if you two wanted to come out with us. Sophia is friends with the owner; it’s supposed to have the best whiskey selection in town.”

Right after the show, the two other band members had driven Sophia’s brand-new red Porsche 911 Turbo to an exclusive after-hours joint. Sophia and Vivian like to hit the clubs maneater style after every show, and while Morgana and Gwen often go along, tonight nothing is going to stop Morgana from getting Gwen naked as soon as possible.

“Nah,” Morgana shakes her head as the car pulls up at the hotel. “No more time for talking, boys, Gwen’s got a new skirt,” she calls as she hurries Gwen off to the elevator.

Arthur throws back his head, laughing at them good-naturedly. Merlin flushes, waves at them, then slings his arm over his boyfriend.

Morgana stabs the elevator button for their floor, crowding Gwen against the wall, searching for a zipper on Gwen’s skirt that would spare her the time of having to undo the corset laces. Gwen retaliates by curling her fingers into Morgana’s hair, pulling her close for a kiss that’s all heat and need.

As soon as they crash into their hotel room, Morgana slides her back against the door, and commands, “Skirt. off. now.”

She stretches her hand out toward Gwen.

Gwen dances just out of reach, laughter tripping out of her throat. “Come and take it off yourself then.” She bends down, unlacing her pink chucks, kicking them into the air, stripping off her socks. She turns to Morgana, who’s rooted to the spot watching the tight swath of leather over Gwen’s butt.

“So you like the new skirt, yeah?” Gwen asks teasingly as she stands up, shimmying her ass. Facing Morgana, she backs up toward the bed, hands cocked on her hips. “Well?”

Morgana’s whole body is brimming with want, and they’re both still fully clothed. She growls in frustration, but, refusing to back down from a challenge, she leans down to undo her sparkly black Doc Martens, shoves off from the door, and launches into Gwen with a full body tackle. Her arms curl around Gwen’s waist, the side of her head butts lightly against Gwen’s chest, and the impact knocks the two of them onto the plush king-size bed. They tumble, legs enmeshed and ankles hanging off the end of the bed.

Breath whooshes out of Gwen’s body as Morgana topples her, grinning wickedly. “Yeah I like the skirt. When did you get it?”

“Merlin helped me pick it out during our boutique shopping expedition last week in Paris. I wanted to surprise you the first time I wore it.” Gwen beams at her girlfriend, caressing her cheek.

“Remind me to thank him. Now I’d like to finally see what’s under it.”

“You’ll never guess,” Gwen says flippantly. Her fingers come up to knead at Morgana’s butt, then dance under her black muscle shirt, gliding up her spine, pressing into each knob, tugging at the ropes of muscle alongside her backbone.

“Your gay pride rainbow g-string?” Morgana asks playfully.

“Nope.”

Morgana returns her attentions to Gwen’s skirt.

“So there’s a hidden zipper here somewhere, right? I don’t have to actually unlace these two rows down the front do I?”

Gwen laughs. “Find out.”

Morgana exhales, pulling back enough to straddle Gwen, letting her hands worry at the waistband of Gwen’s skirt.

“Ha! Victory!” She yanks at the zip on the side. The leather skirt opens up like a book and Morgana stays her hands, inhaling sharply.

 _“Oh Gwen.”_

She stares down, immobilized by the desire that swells up in her, threatening to sweep her away. Slung low over Gwen’s hips sits a pristine pair of white hipster panties, contrasting sharply with her chestnut-colored skin. The beauty, the simplicity, the utter prissiness of it, the contrast with the rest of Gwen’s usual girly punkiness arrests her.

“These are new, too,” she murmurs almost worshipfully.

Gwen nods, and her breath catches as Morgana stretches out her fingertips to brush lightly over the soft cotton, tracing the elastic trim at the sloping low cut of the leg openings.

Morgana runs her fingers over the unadorned trim, all the fevered urgency of the night suddenly drained out of her, replaced by burning deliberateness. The desire boiling through her veins transforms into a glorious simmer, and she settles back on her heels.

“Well if they’re new, then they deserve my full attention,” Morgana suggests devilishly as she cocks an eyebrow at Gwen.

Turning her palm upward, Morgana brushes the backs of her fingers over the edges of the panty, refraining from actually touching the pure white cotton.

“Your full attention, huh? Gwen asks, breathlessly intrigued. She digs her fingers into the soft fleshiness under Morgana’s shoulder blades.

For minutes, the flat of Morgana’s fingernails gently follows the lines where the tight elastic meets the softness of Gwen’s thighs. Staring intently at the sight of her long fingers dancing over Gwen, Morgana senses the hot wetness between her own legs and the slow, smoldering ache in her chest. She imagines herself opening Gwen up, filling her, making her burn.

Gwen wriggles under Morgana’s touch, legs splaying wider and wider open, as she arches closer to Morgana’s fingers, maneuvering herself toward Morgana’s hand.

“Um . . . could you?” Gwen asks.

“Could I what?” Morgana replies smugly. She smiles down wickedly at her and skims her hands up to Gwen’s waist, tugging up her tight black and pink shirt.

“Could I take off your top? Sure,” Morgana teases.

Gwen’s shirt and skirt land on the floor and Morgana, still fully dressed, stretches out alongside her, one hand loosely toying with the edge of the cotton panty, the other tangling in Gwen’s hair. Morgana’s mouth attacks Gwen’s naked torso, lapping at the angry red lines imprinted around her breasts and down her sides by the tight top. She licks up the salt of Gwen’s performance, drinking up all the sweat and energy pooled under her breasts, sprinkled over her hip, dusted across her stomach.

“Morgana . . .” Gwen exhales her lover’s name, a faint whine creeping into her voice.

“Yes?” Morgana asks as her fingertips finally begin to draw lines over the white cotton, up and down the side of Gwen’s hips, above her pubic bone, purposefully avoiding the most tender spots, while her mouth hovers over Gwen’s nipple.

“Morgana, could you just hurry it up a bit?” Gwen grinds out as sends one hand down to her underwear, trying to shimmy out of it.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Morgana laughs as her hand stills over Gwen’s panties. “I’ve been waiting all night to see what’s under your skirt. Now that I finally get to see, it would be a shame to take it off so quickly, don’t you think?”

Her hand catches Gwen’s fingers that are locked in the underwear, trying to push it down. Morgana descends on Gwen’s nipple, laving, sucking slowly, all the while keeping Gwen’s hand caught in the panties.

Gwen gives a bit of a tug, trying to get the underwear off, and Morgana pushes herself back up, shifting her legs so she’s straddling Gwen again, stilling both hands over her.

“I said, keep it on,” she commands harshly.

Gwen’s warm eyes widen and the two stare at each other for a long moment. Then Gwen wriggles her ass again. “I love it when you use your bossy voice,” she laughs, words tumbling from her lips between quick exhales.

“Then listen well to this bossiness. I’m going to stand up, and you’re not going to move one single muscle, ok? You’re just going to lie there for a few minutes without moving. Can you do that?”

The corner of Gwen’s lips quirks into a satisfied smile. “I think I can manage.”

Morgana shoves off the bed, assesses it quickly, and pads across the room. Rummaging through her suitcase, she pulls an assortment of things out of her toiletries bag. She returns quickly, placing a bottle of lube and a thin black scarf on the bedside table.

“Ok, come here, and put your arms over your head.” She dangles handcuffs from her pointer finger.

“I thought you said I couldn’t move a muscle.”

“Hussy. And I thought you liked my bossy voice.”

“Yeah.”

“You want to hear more of it?”

Gwen nods and complies by first removing the leather cuff on her arm, then impatiently placing both hands above her head, wrists close together. She wriggles her whole body as she does so and Morgana licks her lips watching her breasts shake.

She leans over, captures Gwen’s mouth in a long, hot, desperate kiss, then efficiently snaps the cuffs around Gwen’s wrists. “Why don’t hotels ever come with beds well suited for handcuffs?” she muses more to herself than Gwen. Taking the scarf off the nightstand, she knots it tightly around the metal links between the handcuffs. Pulling it taut, she ties the other end to the base of the headboard’s knobbed bedpost.

The position is slightly awkward for Gwen, whose arms are now suspended mid-way between the headboard and pillow, her fingertips a few inches from the bed frame.

“Alright?” Morgana asks.

Gwen yanks her hands hard once, twice. “Yup. You knotted it well.”

“Good.”

Enjoying the desire stark in Gwen’s eyes, Morgana peels off her own shirt and tight jeans, discards her matching black lace bra and thong in a pile on the floor, and returns to the bed, planting her knees on either side of Gwen’s hips, hovering over her.

Spread out naked before her, Gwen’s muscular drummer’s arms are trembling over her head, her breasts pushed up high, a few stray curls plastered to her neck, nipples flushed dark, stomach breathing in an uneven rhythm, and a damp spot blooming at the juncture of her legs, marking her pristine white panties.

Gwen’s eyes, rimmed in smudgy kohl from the night’s show, bore into Morgana’s, pleading, feverish with desire. Morgana knows how much Gwen loves to give herself over to her lover, how much it turns them both on for Gwen to relinquish control, to let Morgana’s fingers, toys, mouth, heart, and body take over, play her until she shatters, push her beyond limits she didn’t even know existed, give her everything she needs.

Morgana aches to touch Gwen, to rip off her panties and dive her fingers, her mouth into her, and she knows Gwen aches for the same. But she just pauses there, hovering over Gwen’s body, letting the anticipation wash over her, tingling everywhere.

Then Morgana settles down, perching on Gwen’s right thigh, sliding her soaking cunt over the smoothness of Gwen’s skin. Leaning over with both hands, Morgana flutters the pads of her fingers, feather light, over the white fabric in front of her, tracing small circles starting at her hipbones, across the flat muscle next to it, over the thin rectangle of curls visible as a shadow under the panties, tortuously avoiding the damp spot spreading wide from her cunt to her clit.

“Morgana,” her name’s an exhaled plea on Gwen’s lips.

“Hmmm?” She stares intently at the patterns her fingers are lightly drawing on the tight fabric.

With one hand, she keeps running butterfly light touches over the panties, and with her other, she traces an equally light line down Gwen’s bare inner thigh, starting at the edge of the white cotton, tracing down to her knee, flipping her hand, and then slowly retracing the same line with the backs of her nails.

Gwen shudders and kicks out with the leg that Morgana’s not agonizing.

“Morgana, really. Just . . .” Her voice is molten need.

“Just what?” Morgana’s right hand skims lower over Gwen’s panties.

“Just . . . touch me.” Her eyes bore into Morgana’s.

“But I _am_ touching you,” Morgana’s whispers smugly. “Tell me where you want me to touch you.”

“I need you in me.” Gwen’s whole body is shaking now, subtle shivers of limbs and torso.

“Oh do you now? Well I’ll be in you soon enough. Just take this for now, I know you can.”

Morgana’s fingertips graze gently lower, landing on the wet bloom in Gwen’s panties. She traces her cunt, reveling in the texture of the drenched fabric, circling slowly. Gwen bucks her hips trying to get more pressure.

Morgana knows how she must feel, dripping with need, anxious to escape the unrelenting erotic touch sparking through her body, wanting more.

“Harder . . . Morgana, please . . . I need more.” Gwen pleads lowly.

“Not yet,” Morgana says simply. “What you need is to trust me. I’ll give you what you need when you’re ready.”

Gwen nods and yanks her hands against the slight slack in the scarf, thrashing her head back and forth, and Morgana has a vision of Gwen moving over the drum kit, flicking her head from left to right to the beat, sweaty with exertion as she is now, flushed with effort.

For minutes there’s no sound but their harsh breathing and the occasional clink of metal as Gwen squirms in her handcuffs. Morgana moves almost lazily, tracing circles and lines, dancing over Gwen’s softness, pressing harder into her clit, then pulling back, running her nails over the lips of her drenched opening that shows darkly through the cotton, feeling the want coiled thick and hot in her own gut, and knowing it’s mirrored in Gwen’s tightly wound body.

“Please . . .” her breath hitches in her throat. “Please, Morgana, I’m begging you. Is this what you want? You want me to beg?”

Morgana’s left hand slides relentlessly up and down the same invisible line on Gwen’s sensitive thigh.

“That’s a good start.” Morgana looks down at Gwen, recognizing the desire wrought in her shaking limbs, her panting stomach. “But what I want doesn’t matter.”

“Arghh. Please, Morgana . . . just a little harder . . . ah there, right there. I’m so close, please, please, please.” The words become a litany as Gwen’s whole body writhes, arching off the bed. “Right, there . . . arrrrgh.” And Morgana knows from the quickness of Gwen’s breath, the speed of her bucking hips that she’s teetering on the edge. And in a flash she lifts her hands away, holds them high up in the air away from Gwen, staring down in love at her gorgeous body in motion.

“Noo . . . damn it, MORGANA!” Gwen wails in frustration and snaps her head back, the crown of her head touching the pillow, the cords on the long line of her neck straining, the scarf around her handcuffs taut as a tightrope.

Morgana pushes off and slides down, enjoying the friction of the sheets against her own slick ache, positioning her torso between Gwen’s open legs. With her hands she firmly braces Gwen’s thighs wide apart, and dips her head towards her soaked panties, inhaling deeply. Gwen smells like earth, and sweat, and want, and allure. “So good . . .” she whispers to Gwen’s legs as she bites her way up each leg, teasing the smooth flesh on her inner thighs. Then she dives down, tongue thrusting hard into the cotton over her cunt, lapping at the cloth.

Gwen shrieks her approval, tries to grind her hips into Morgana’s mouth. Morgana feels, smells, knows Gwen’s close again, so she moves her mouth to the side, latching onto the strip of cotton between Gwen’s legs, catching it in her teeth and dragging it relentlessly back and forth over Gwen’s cunt.

Stuttering, writhing, panting, Gwen’s orgasm rips through her. Morgana tastes it on her tongue, feels her spasm against her lips, rides her through it with her mouth full of cotton and come.

Gwen’s body stills, her shallow breath the only sound in the now quiet room. “Morgana?” she asks blissfully.

Reluctantly she removes her mouth, perching her chin lightly on Gwen’s hipbone. Their gazes meet and smolder with warm love. “Yeah?”

“Undo me? I need to touch you. Need it so bad. Want to hear you come.”

Morgana contemplates for a moment, quirking an eyebrow.

“No. You see, I’m so not done with you yet.” Her lilting voice is full of promises.

Morgana’s up off Gwen’s body, tenderly tugging off the white panties. “Come for me again, Gwen, come again, and I’ll come with you this time.” She folds the panties lovingly before placing them on a pillow.

Gwen laughs, a full body chuckle. “Oh so it’s going to be one of those nights, is it?”

“You better believe it. Besides, you said you needed me in you. And I would hate to disappoint my girl.”

“Oh.”

Morgana’s fingers are weaving into the short curls between Gwen’s legs, exploratively stroking across her wetness.

Gwen inhales harshly, squirming. “I don’t . . . I don’t know if I can tonight.”

“Sure you can. You can do this. Breathe, in, out . . . in, out, deep, slow. Breathe all the way down to my fingers, feel your breath moving into your cunt, your clit.” Morgana’s voice soothes and holds Gwen gently. Gwen calms and after long moments where the only sound is her ragged slow breaths, she’s gradually pushing against Morgana’s tentative touch again.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it.” Morgana whispers, sliding two fingers into Gwen’s heat, marveling at how open she is.

“Oh Morgana.” Gwen clenches around Morgana’s fingers that are dancing in and out of her body, thumb brushing lightly over her clit. Gwen begins to shake again, moving faster. Morgana pulls all the way out, and spears her hand back into her, three fingers deep. She feels the soft walls softly close around her hand and wants more, more, wants to fill Gwen up with everything in her soul.

Gwen’s eyes are caught in Morgana’s, and her hands are shifting restlessly in their restraints.

“Morgana, please, let me touch you, too. Please . . . have to feel your skin.”

“Ok,” she whispers. “But,” her bossy voice returns, “no attempts to distract me. I _will_ fist you tonight, love, and nothing’s going to stop me.”

“Good.” Gwen’s smile spreads broadly across her face.

Morgana pulls out slowly, carefully, and moves off the bed. Gwen sighs a hot breath against her cheek as she reaches over and opens the cuffs, they swing and dangle off the bedpost. Gwen instantly drags her arms up around Morgana’s neck, fisting her fingers in Morgana’s long tresses. Gwen’s kissing her as if Morgana’s the air she breathes, all open mouthed and demanding, sucking hard on Morgana’s tongue, bringing their teeth clacking together.

For long moments, Morgana’s lost in the feel of Gwen’s mouth, the tug of Gwen’s fingers in her hair, the warm press of her chest into Morgana’s. Then she pulls back and lightly pushes Gwen onto the pillow. Snagging the bottle of lube from the nightstand, she trails her fingers over Gwen’s breasts and stomach, teasing at her nipples. Gwen’s breath catches and she looks at Morgana, eyes full of love.

Overwhelmed, Morgana feels deep in her belly the desire to take Gwen, to fill her up with her heart. She eases herself down on Gwen’s left thigh, supporting some of her weight on her own legs. Gwen reaches up and runs her hand from Morgana’s stomach to her breast, resting there, cradling, massaging, gently squeezing Morgana’s nipple between two fingers.

Morgana inhales sharply and grinds her dripping cunt against Gwen’s thigh, rubbing it over and over. She tips the bottle of lube open, smothering her left hand in it.

She trails two nails of her right hand slowly over Gwen’s tight bud, just barely touching, barely scratching her there like she knows Gwen likes it.

  
Gwen begins to move against her, arching her hips up into Morgana’s fingers. Eager to be inside her again, Morgana gathers the four slender fingers of her left hand into a tight line, tucking her pinky to the inside of her ring finger, and inch by inch eases into her open wetness. Meeting with the hardness of Gwen’s pubic bone, Morgana inhales and twists her hand, pushing in.

“Ahh . . . so much,” Gwen stutters.

“Shh . . .” Morgana soothes as her right hand begins to stroke faster on Gwen’s clit, playing her smoothly. “You can take this, I know you can.” And then she feels it, feels Gwen open ever so slightly. She’s up to her knuckles now, so she tucks her thumb in tight to touch the base of her pinky, twirling in farther.

Gwen is jerking her head from side to side now, raw sounds coming out of her throat. “Ahh so full.” One hand is still latched possessively onto Morgana’s nipple; the other is over her head, tugging at her own hair.

Morgana breathes deeply, stilling her hand inside Gwen, resting there for a space, letting Gwen adjust to the fullness, while slowly caressing her sensitive clit. Looking down at her hand, gorgeously disappearing into Gwen, she rubs her own cunt over Gwen’s thigh, feeling the pressure and longing for release burning in her.

She’s almost fully in. Gwen’s stretched so tight around her hand, Morgana spirals her hand forward, gently, lovingly, maneuvering through the pubic bone until her whole fist is drowning in Gwen’s velvet heat.

As Morgana presses through, Gwen cries out, incoherently stammering Morgana’s name.

Ever so slowly, Morgana edges her hand up and down inside Gwen, lightly flicking at the sponginess of her G-spot, enjoying the clench and pull of Gwen’s muscles, feeling like she’s home, like her hand could live here forever, like she’s never seen anything more beautiful than Gwen undulating below her, curls plastered sweaty across her forehead, nipples rigid with desire, frown pressed into her brow as she reaches for the heights of her nearing orgasm.

Morgana increases the pressure on Gwen’s clit, snapping it hard between her fingers.

“Come with me, Gwen,” she whispers. Morgana’s holding her up, pushing her higher and higher.

Then she begins to move, grinding her hips against Gwen’s smooth thigh, listening to the slickness of her come against Gwen’s leg, pushing hard to create friction on Gwen’s smoothness, jutting her nipple into Gwen’s fingers. Morgana gives herself over completely to the need spiraling through her, knowing how much Gwen likes to watch her get herself off on Gwen’s body.

Gwen’s eyes are blown wide as she watches Morgana dance over her, shifting her hips back and forth, one hand buried deep in Gwen, the other stroking her relentlessly.

“So full . . . you’re everywhere inside me . . . you’re in my throat, my guts, my stomach, in my . . .” Gwen babbles, “God, my ass . . . my lungs . . . my heart.” And then she’s screaming, coming hard and long and her passage sucks Morgana’s hand in, sucks it farther in, spasms around it, holds it close.

And Morgana comes undone, tips over the edge where she’s been suspended, feels her own orgasm spike from her toes to groin, bursting through her body, sending shockwaves down her spine.

The two women stare at each other for long, silent, full moments, the quiet of the room warmly settling over them.

Carefully, gently, Morgana slips her hand out of Gwen, shifts off her leg, and lands beside her so they’re lying side by side. Morgana runs her hands up and down Gwen’s back, Gwen clenches Morgana’s hair, slings a leg over her hip, and their mouths are full of exhausted, loving, sloppy kisses.

After their breathing has calmed, after their hands have slowly stilled, after a languorous eternity, Morgana pulls back, looking deep into Gwen’s dark eyes. “Love you,” she whispers.

“You too.” Gwen’s lips spread into a wide, blissful smile. “Sleep now,” she moans lowly; nestling her head into the pillow, she gently pushes Morgana to her other side, so they lie tightly wedged together like spoons in a drawer.

Gwen presses her breasts into Morgana’s back, tangles a leg between hers, nudges her warm fingers into Morgana’s soft belly, rubs her nose into Morgana’s neck and sighs. Morgana smiles dopily at the delightful heat of her lover behind her, the aches in her back, the pruny feel of her fingers, the heady smell of sex drifting around them.

Morgana’s hand—blanketed with come, lube, and spit, fingertips red and puckered—crumples the damp panties lying on her pillow to her heart as she falls blissfully into sleep.


End file.
